3
Ivy crouched in front of the vintage refrigerator she called Gertie, wiping out the interior with a cleaning rag. She had put a pot of hot water inside to speed the defrosting of the upper freezer, which had grown thick with ice. She rocked back on her heels and drew her hand across her forehead.
“Hi, Ivy. Can you talk?”
Ivy looked up at Rachel, her young guest from the bachelorette party, and stretched out her hand. “As long as you give me a hand up.” She’d been in that position so long that her legs were aching.
“What are you doing?” Rachel asked.
“Defrosting the freezer.”
“I didn’t know you had to do that,” Rachel said, biting her lip. “Guess I have a lot to learn about taking care of a house—and a baby and a husband. Not that my mother is any sort of a role model. All she does
